


Walk Home

by Heathlily33



Category: Carol (2015)
Genre: Art, COVID-19, F/F, New York City, Summer, Work, lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:27:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27353446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heathlily33/pseuds/Heathlily33
Summary: “You know my sister? Carol?” Her boss asked.“Of course.”Carol was pretty unforgettable, both in looks and personality.“Right. Well, it seems she’s getting a bit stir-crazy working from home the past five months. Her own fault. She’s become a bit of a recluse. Anyway, she wants to work from here, at the gallery. I told her she could, but only if you were comfortable with it.”Therese didn’t mind. It was just one more person, after all, but she kept listening to all the ways in which Carol had been abundantly safe during the pandemic. She’d seen “maybe three people in person,” constantly got tested, and would probably sooner fling herself into oncoming traffic before she had to come within six feet of a stranger, “though that’s par for the course, for her.” Therese was just surprised she even wanted to leave the house and work elsewhere.“Well, her air conditioner is broken. That's the only reason why.”
Relationships: Carol Aird & Therese Belivet, Carol Aird/Harge Aird, Carol Aird/Therese Belivet
Comments: 190
Kudos: 281





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to post this as a one-shot (meaning, yes, it's basically finished already, don't get all snippy with me) but it's really long, so I broke it into two.

“I have a favor to ask you. Prepare to say ‘no,’ if you aren’t comfortable.” 

It was rare for Therese’s boss to ask her a favor and give her the option of turning him down. Most “favors” were nice ways of telling Therese to do something. Not that she minded, it was a job, after all. And the past year and a half she’d worked as an assistant at the Chelsea gallery, she’d had a fairly cushy - even if demanding - job. 

“What is it?”

“You know my sister? Carol?” 

“Of course.” 

Carol was pretty unforgettable, both in looks and personality. 

“Right. Well, it seems she’s getting a bit stir-crazy working from home the past five months. A little of her own fault, really. She’s become a bit of a recluse. She gets her groceries, her prescriptions, absolutely everything, delivered. Everything. Anyway, she wants to work from here. I told her she could, but only if you were comfortable with it.”

Therese didn’t mind. It was just one more person, but she kept listening to all the ways in which Carol had been abundantly safe during the pandemic. She’d seen “maybe three people in person,” constantly got tested, and would probably sooner fling herself into oncoming traffic before she had to come within six feet of a stranger, “though that’s par for the course, for her.” Therese was just surprised she even wanted to leave the house and work elsewhere.

“Her air conditioner is broken.”

It was mid-July and the past three days had seen temperatures well into the 90s. Suddenly, it more than made sense. 

“I don’t mind at all.”

“I owe you. _She_ owes _us_. Oh, one more thing, Therese...”

Therese furrowed her brows as Harge put $250 in front of her. 

“She wants you to go get a Covid test. Rapid would be best. Sorry!”

———

Just a couple of months into working at Harge’s gallery was when Therese first met Carol. Harge was hosting an exhibit - something Therese had helped with extensively - and countless current and potential buyers packed the gallery space. Talking, mingling, drinking, and hopefully, making impulse purchases that would only appreciate in value over time. Among those invited were Harge’s parents (a slightly pretentious yet extremely friendly couple whom Therese had met once prior) and his twin sister, Carol. Therese’s knowledge of Carol mostly stemmed from hearing Harge and her argue over the phone every so often. 

If Harge hadn’t nodded his head toward the blonde woman wearing a short, tight, black sleeveless dress and an unhappy look on her face, Therese wouldn’t have guessed they were related. They didn’t look much alike. Carol was a little taller than Therese but Therese had expected her to be closer to Harge’s height; he towered over everyone besides his father. She was pale and smelled like cigarette smoke and was _not_ in a good mood. 

Harge kissed her cheek and asked, “so, how are you?” in a sort of pointed way. 

“Well, I haven’t slept in days because my neighbor got a new boyfriend and the walls in my apartment are _paper_ thin, to put it generously, and I have what I think are the beginnings of a raging yeast infection. Otherwise I’m a solid five out of ten. Thanks for asking.”

Doing her best to suppress a fit of giggles, Therese watched as Harge’s jaw shifted. He glared at Carol before turning to Therese and mumbling, “I’m so sorry about her, she doesn’t go out in public often.” He turned to Carol and snipped, “what the fuck is wrong with you? Is this your first time out of the house...ever?”

Carol grinned and held a challenging gaze. Then, she winked at Therese, clearly unconcerned. “What do you mean?”

“Just go knock back a few martinis and then get back to me, Carol.”

Therese watched regretfully as Carol drifted away, toward the bar, most likely. Harge apologized for her again, which was completely unnecessary. Apparently, Carol’s five-year-long on-again/off-again relationship had permanently gone dark. 

“How do you have an on-again/off-again thing that lasts five years?”

“When you are Carol Aird and you feel like someone wanting even a morsel of your attention is a federal offense. That’s how. Elena is much better off.”

Between answering questions about art to guests and being paraded around by Harge, who was boasting that Therese had been “essential” to his curation of the exhibit, Therese spent the remainder of her time scanning the room to try and find Carol. She didn’t know why. There was just something about her. 

————

Therese saw Carol incrementally during her first year working for Harge. 

There was Harge’s 39th birthday party, which Carol insisted was absolutely not also her party, despite it being her birthday, too. 

“I would never rent out PDT for my birthday,” she told Therese.

Harge seemed to appear out of nowhere, right next to Therese. “No, you wouldn’t. That would require you to have people who like you and care about you. Abby is in Mexico and...well, I guess that’s the end of the list.”

Washing down the remainder of her drink, Carol just rolled her eyes and headed back to the bar. Harge talked a big game, but when his girlfriend brought out his birthday cake, he scrambled to find Carol so they could blow out the candles (there were actually a full 39 of them, alarmingly) together. She looked like she enjoyed it, too, even if a little embarrassed by the attention.

Then Harge got engaged. And there was an engagement party, to which Therese was invited, much to her surprise. Therese expressed her surprise when Emma, Harge’s fiancé, called to get her address to pass along to her parents who were sending out invitations. “Of course you’re invited, don’t be silly.”

It was less of a head-scratcher when Therese arrived and saw just how large of a party it was. It was beautiful, too, and Therese realized that this was what families who actually enjoyed each other's company must’ve done. She was jealous, but grateful to be included.

Another person who might’ve been a little bit jealous was Carol, though for different reasons. She was sitting alone on a sofa, chewing the ice leftover from her drink. As if unconsciously, Therese found herself gravitating toward Carol. 

Once Therese was in front of her, Carol glanced up, forced a smile, said, “hello,” and continued chewing her ice. 

“Enjoying your ice?”

“Oh yes, so much. Have you had it? Couldn’t recommend it enough.”

Therese pointed to her glass, a coupe with a light lavender liquid strained into it, no ice in sight. 

“You’re missing out.” Carol replied. 

“Are you anemic?” Therese asked. It was impulsive and she hated herself as the words came out of her mouth, but she couldn’t take them back. Carol looked beyond puzzled. “Chewing ice. It’s a symptom.”

“That…does not sound right.”

“I mean, it is.” Therese then added, “are you a vegetarian?”

“Are you a doctor?”

A hand covered Therese’s shoulder. When she looked over, it was attached to a woman she didn’t know. “Please don’t mind her, she’s in an awful mood.” The woman said, clearly referring to Carol. “I’m Abby. A longtime friend of Harge and Carol’s.”

Therese shook the hand that was once on her shoulder. “Therese. I’m Harge’s - ”

“I know who you are.” Abby had a disarming smile and a soft, unassuming voice to go along with it. Therese normally thought of herself as someone who could get a good read on people, but she had a sudden, overwhelming feeling that she would not be able to do so with Abby. “You probably don’t remember, but I was in the gallery the other day. I bought the - ”

“The Kristen Zhou painting. Now I remember.”

One thing Therese _did_ know about Abby was that she, like Harge and Carol, had money, because that painting not only boasted a five figure price tag, but it was so large that it couldn’t reasonably fit in just _any_ apartment. She chatted with them for a few more minutes, picked up on the reason for Carol’s sour attitude when Carol said, “well, I guess my parents will never have to worry about paying for anything like this for me,” and eventually exited the conversation when one of Harge’s friends - one she knew from how often he hung around the gallery - got her attention to say hi. 

\---------

Maybe sitting in her apartment, being a “recluse,” as Harge had so lovingly put it, had served Carol well, because even through not one, but two, masks, Therese could tell she was much more chipper than when she’d last seen Carol over six months earlier. Her hair was visibly longer, even as it sat tied up in a loose bun at the crown of her head, and Therese spotted a faint dusting of light silvery-grey around the roots. She liked it. It softened Carol’s look. At the opposite end of the long, white, laminate table, Carol set down her bag. 

“Hey, Therese.” The lines around her eyes deepened as she smiled. She took off her first mask, revealing the next, and Therese laughed. 

“You aren’t fucking around.”

“Absolutely not. I will not die alone in my apartment. I mean, yes I will, but later in life.”

Therese just stared as Carol unpacked. A 16-inch MacBook Pro with a solid red shell case came first, then a wireless mouse sat next to it. Carol put a large, navy-blue water bottle on the table - it was sleek and, if possible for a water bottle, expensive-looking. When her long laptop charger was pulled out, she glanced around for a moment until Therese snapped out of her daze.

“Oh, the wall to your right - look down to the floor. See that little square?” The outlet was well-concealed. It was all part of making the gallery as neutral a space as possible. “It lifts up.” 

While Carol crouched on the floor, maneuvering the cord through the box’s hole and putting the cover back on, Therese went back to watching. For someone who’d been sitting in her apartment for months, she looked good. Incredible, actually. Better than Therese remembered. 

“You can take your other mask off, you know. I was practically lobotomized via my nasal passages yesterday to ensure a safe environment for you.”

Looking sheepish and apologetic - and still hesitant - Carol mumbled, “sorry,” and slowly took off her other mask.

“I’m only teasing you. It’s totally fine.” Therese half-heartedly went back to her work - she was in the middle of typing a list of updates to send to the gallery’s web designer - but still watched as Carol finished settling in across from her. After a couple minutes, Therese flat-out asked, “did you get a Peloton or something during this shutdown?”

If anything, Therese thought the question would be a sufficient way to break the ice. A continuation of the strange dialogue they’d always kept every time Harge brought them together. 

Carol narrowed her eyes and paused, “I did. Why?”

Taking her hands off of her keyboard, Therese put them together on the table and leaned forward for emphasis. “Your body...looks insane.”

A deep red spread across Carol’s ears and cheekbones, and Therese wondered for a second if she’d just put her job in jeopardy by sexually harassing her boss’s sister, but then Carol put her hand to her chest and started smiling, still a little taken aback. “Um. Oh my god. _Thank you._ ”

Therese said nothing and continued her work. 

\----------

When things initially shut down, Harge and Therese were worried. Like nearly every industry, they expected to take a hit. In the first few weeks, they certainly felt it. Therese was worried Harge was going to have to lay her off. Then, when it was looking like the shutdown might last far longer than initially anticipated, something bizarre happened: business picked up again, like, quite a bit. Not exactly back to normal, but it certainly wasn’t slow. 

With people forced to spend so much time at home, suddenly the big empty wall across from their desks or next to their dining room tables seemed _so_ bland, and with all their free time, they were making changes. They were buying art. Admittedly, too, their buyers were in the highest of tax brackets, pent up at home and itching to spend money. 

With all of the purchases happening online, however, more clients were coming from beyond the tri-state area, and shipping art across the country required a much more time consuming packaging process. It sometimes took a solid portion of their day. It was what they were doing - Harge propping up a 48-by-60 inch canvas and Therese on the floor, wrapping it in plastic pallet wrap - when Carol chimed in. “This seems inefficient.”

Therese stopped momentarily and glared up at Carol, who was standing over her, smiling like she wanted to laugh. “Do you have a better idea?”

“No.” She shrugged. Harge sighed and told Carol to stop bothering them.

As Therese continued, Harge asked, “did I tell you how she’ll be paying for her time here?”

“No. How?”

“Once a week, she has to buy the three of us dinner to be delivered here on a day of our choosing and from a place of our choosing. So start brainstorming, because we’ve got a lot of expensive restaurants at our disposal.”

The first week, they went a little overboard. Carol sighed and grumbled something about “signing up for this,” as she pulled out her credit card and paid for their - probably exorbitant - order from Carbone. To be fair, Therese had only requested one thing. It was Carol who tacked on the extra dishes and multiple bottles of wine.

The second week, they got Indian. 

The third week, Harge wouldn’t shut the fuck up about Paella. Paella, Paella, Paella. He and Therese had picked it out Thursday night before leaving, and Therese spent all of Friday waiting for 6pm to roll around. But late afternoon, Harge got a call from Emma. There was a leak in their kitchen and he needed to go home and help. Therese was only kind of (very) disappointed.

As she packed her laptop into her bag before leaving, she looked at Carol, still clicking away at whatever program she was always using. “I bet you’re relieved to be off the hook this week, aren’t you?”

“Off the hook?” When Carol glanced up from her screen, she was confused. “Wait, are you leaving?”

Therese had just assumed… “well, yeah, I mean, Harge isn’t here and I figured…”

“Why does Harge have to be here? Sit back down. Unless you’ve got other plans in mind, of course, in which case - ”

“No, not at all.” Therese sat back down.

She felt fidgety as she waited for Carol to finish up whatever it is she was doing. Therese wasn’t sure if she was excited or nervous to spend a couple hours with just Carol. Both, probably. Excited because she liked Carol, simply put. There was something that made Therese want to be around her. The nerves were mostly concerning what they’d talk about, if Carol would find her boring without Harge as a buffer, if she’d wind up feeling like she was simply fulfilling an obligation. 

The worry went away quickly, because after Carol ordered their food - dismissing Therese’s offer to pay in the process (“I don’t know what exactly my brother pays you, but I’m confident it isn’t nearly enough for all that you do”) - she tossed her phone aside and immediately started talking about her plans to go up to Westchester the next day to visit her parents for only the second time in six months. Therese was secretly dying to see the elder Airds’ house. It sounded spectacular. She knew they had a pool, a tennis court, and a modest collection of De Stijl art. 

“Is your parents’ house in Scarsdale?”

Carol shook her head, “no, Rye. It’s very close, though, and just as ostentatious.” Carol spun in her chair and added, “I wish they’d move. Anyway, where are you from? Where do your parents live?”

That was _such_ a good question. 

“I have no idea.” Therese said, and Carol stilled in her seat. She raised an eyebrow, indicating for Therese to explain herself. “We’re, like, entirely estranged.”

It wasn’t a pleasant story. Therese no longer minded explaining, but she hated making people feel sorry for her, which was inevitable. She’d lived with her parents until she was six, but they were both pretty serious addicts and eventually too sick to take care of her. So at six, she went to her grandmother’s, but by nine, her grandmother’s health was declining, so foster care was the only feasible option. Her parents visited at first, when they were allowed, from time to time. The visits grew less and less frequent, though, and then eventually they just...stopped.

“Anyway, that was all in Maryland. Near DC. I grew up in Maryland.”

“Oh my god, Therese. I had no idea. You’re amazing.”

Not quite the standard reaction. Therese furrowed her brows and asked, “why?”

“Look at the life you’ve made for yourself.” Carol was gesturing all around the room. “You live in New York fucking City. You’re working in the industry you want to - I mean, I think you are. You built a life entirely your own. That’s amazing.”

Sometimes Therese’s life was just normal and busy and there wasn’t reason for her to remember things like that. She shrugged at Carol’s compliment, too shy and modest to fully accept. It wasn’t in her nature to think of herself in such flattering terms. 

They talked more about Maryland, about DC, about the ultra-rich, almost entirely-white suburb in which Carol had grown up, and the various places they’d each lived around New York. Carol’s list far more extensive, given she’d been in the city 14 years longer than Therese. Therese had completely forgotten about her anxiety of boring Carol. Their food arrived in what felt like five minutes, but in reality it had been an hour.

They stayed at the gallery long after they’d finished eating. As much as Therese loved hanging out with Carol and Harge after work once a week, it was kind of nice not having Harge there. Carol was more relaxed and open. She was her own person, not just one half of a pair of petulant adult twins. 

When they decided to wrap it up, Carol decided to walk with Therese. They lived just seven blocks from one another on the Lower East Side, and Therese had found the perfect route to walk to and from work - each block specifically chosen for its light foot traffic. The walk was about 45 minutes, and after a lot of talking, they spent most of it in a comfortable silence. Therese focused instead on watching Carol cautiously navigate the relatively slow streets, how she’d scale the tight sliver of sidewalk next to the curb, avoiding the far-fewer-than-last-year couples and groups spilling out of makeshift restaurant patios. 

When they got to Carol’s street, she told Therese she’d walk with her to her apartment. It was out of the way, but Carol said she was enjoying the weather. It was true she didn’t get out much. 

“Where is the first place you want to go on vacation when traveling is safe again?” 

The question came out of the blue, and Therese’s mind raced for an answer.

“Oh god, I don’t know. I guess I haven’t thought about it.” It felt like their pace had slowed considerably, and it bought Therese time, but it wouldn’t be enough. “I don’t really go on vacation much.”

For some reason she was embarrassed by the latter admission.

“You haven’t thought about it? It’s almost all I think about.”

“So…?”

“I think I want to go to Chile. Take two weeks or so. Go to Santiago. See Valle de la Luna.”

“Alone?” There was certainly nothing wrong with traveling alone, it just seemed like an ambitious trip to do without another person.

Carol shrugged, “I guess. Have you ever been to Chile?”

With a slight pause - filled with the thought of answering with a lie - Therese admitted, “I’ve barely been outside of the northeastern United States.”

Expecting shock, appal, laughter, Therese was relieved when Carol replied, “traveling abroad is expensive. I’m very fortunate. I always have been.” They were stopped outside of Therese’s building and Carol added, “you will one day though. As soon as all of _this_ is under control.”

“You sure about that?”

“More than sure. I’d bet my entire life on it. And yours.” She turned and started walking back the way they came. “See you Monday, Therese.”

————

When Therese found herself working over the weekend, it wasn’t because Harge expected it of her. There’d been times where he asked her to help him out on her off hours and most of those times were swiftly met with an apology and a recant. But Therese enjoyed her work, for the most part. Carol had been correct in her assumption that Therese was working in her desired industry.

She was hardly unfamiliar with Harge’s last name when she’d first begun searching for jobs after leaving her internship at a museum in Baltimore. She wasn’t specifically looking in New York City - she’d go anywhere within reason - but the name Hargess Aird popped into her results of matched jobs, and she muttered, “no way,” out loud in the public library. 

The odds of the last name Aird being associated with two _unrelated_ people in the New York City art world had to be slim. And Therese found she was correct, that Harge Aird was the son of Jennifer Aird - an artist who had caught Therese’s attention when she was barely a teenager during a field trip to Baltimore Museum of Art. She’d strayed away from her group in the Cone Collection and wandered into a special exhibition of contemporary works influenced by Fauvism, heavily featuring an artist named Jennifer Aird. 

Eventually, she got removed from the exhibition due to a combination of having not paid and having an irritated art teacher hunting her down with the help of a security guard. She also didn’t get the job at Harge’s gallery. Not the first time she applied, at least. She didn’t even get an interview. Another, larger gallery in New York offered her a less interesting spot, but she took it, of course. It wasn’t after another few years when she noticed an opening at Harge’s gallery once again. 

The second time, she found herself face-to-face at the long, white laminate table with Hargess Aird. He didn’t look like a Hargess. Though to be fair, anyone named Hargess seemed like they should’ve been dead by the turn of the twentieth century. Hargess Aird was tall, somewhat slim, but with broad shoulders and a cutting jaw. He had dark hair and dark eyes and Therese was immediately intimidated as he leaned back slightly in his chair, one foot resting across his knee, reading the unimpressive resume that she’d worked tirelessly to improve. 

When he smiled, Therese thought he was going to laugh at her, or say something snarky, but instead, “you interned at the American Visionary Art Museum?” She nodded. “I love it. You’d probably never guess looking around at what we have in here, but I’m a big fan of outsider art.”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t have guessed. This is all so…” Therese searched for the right word: mainstream wasn’t quite accurate, but highbrow sounded judgemental (though not inaccurate), but Harge helped her out.

“I know what you mean. Of course, we do have clients to consider even when we sometimes wish we didn’t. You work at a gallery now, you get it.” Harge took out a pen and scribbled something on Therese’s resume. “Why are you looking to leave your current job? And why here?”

It was pretty simple. “I love my job - ”

“But…?”

“But it is a very large gallery with a lot of employees. I’ve found it hard to grow in a meaningful way when the size and the pace makes the work so chaotic. I’m looking for an environment where I’m able to contribute more than menial tasks.”

Therese looked again at the artwork on the walls as Harge wrote more on her resume. He nodded, too, maybe in understanding. 

“What’s your desired pay, Therese?”

It always was the trickiest question for Therese. At 25-years-old, even after spending 11 years working all types of different jobs, she just wanted to be hired. She added two thousand dollars to her current salary and landed on that. Harge bobbed his head back and forth and wrote it down next to her name. 

“You wrote your college dissertation on the gradual reintroduction of color within post-9/11 artwork - which is a hell of a topic, by the way - my question is, do you know my mother?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Is that any part of the reason you’re interested in working here?”

“I guess so. Maybe.”

He said he had a few other applicants and he’d call her by the end of the week. Therese thought she didn’t have a chance, especially with her admission about his mother. But, he called back, and he asked her to start two weeks from the following Monday. 

It had been a rewarding year-and-a-half, and though Therese did want to broaden her career, to become more than just a gallery assistant, she had a hard time picturing herself at another gallery. And now, too, there was this other interest of Harge’s sister hanging around all the time. She knew it was only temporary, but Therese had some kind of daydream that she’d get to know Carol more and more while she worked from their gallery and eventually they’d, what? (And this is where Therese could barely entertain the idea.) Become friends?

That seemed silly. But after Carol voluntarily spent her Friday night with Therese, not completely unimaginable. And bizarrely, Carol walked home with Therese every day that Harge left before her the next week, which was every day besides Thursday - when they’d all eaten dinner together. On Monday, she just left when Therese did and began walking beside her, like it was expected, all the way to Therese’s apartment door, like she had the first time. 

They grew increasingly more talkative, though, and Carol asked Therese about all sorts of things. She was particularly interested in how her upbringing - one that was so foreign and inconceivable to Carol - shaped her worldview, her outlook on life and their current dire political circumstance. 

Conversely, Therese wondered, too, what it had been like to grow up with two parents that were such distinguished artists and, frankly, with so much wealth. 

They were sitting on the small set of steps in front of Therese’s building, having arrived twenty minutes ago. It was Friday again, and probably busier than it should’ve been. 

Carol sighed. “I’m not going to lie and pretend it was rough or anything. We were able to go on vacation all the time and had access to various types of coaches and tutors whenever we wished. But some parts of it sucked. My mother once told Harge he’d ‘look like a Seurat painting’ if he kept picking at his acne when he was twelve. And listening to your dad and his buddy David Mamet make demeaning jokes when he’s over for dinner and you’re a sixteen-year-old girl kind of sticks with you. Plus, when I didn’t want to be an artist… that was a little ostracizing.” 

It was noticeably backward, a family disappointed when their child _didn’t_ want to pursue the arts, but the way Carol explained it made sense: she came across as an ‘other,’ a black sheep. She already felt like she stood out because she wasn’t straight. Now when she went to Harge’s or her parents’ events, she felt like she was viewed as an interloper. A square who secretly had rejected their scene, all along. 

\-----------

The same thing happened the next Monday, and Tuesday, where Carol inexplicably just...followed Therese home. It was kind of funny when Therese thought about it. She wouldn’t ever say anything, though. If she did, Carol would absolutely get self-conscious about it and stop, and Therese absolutely did not want that to happen. 

On Wednesday, Carol ordered Therese and Harge dinner. She barely ate her own before packing up and leaving in a hurry, something Harge appeared to expect but left Therese to ask him, “where does she have to be at 7pm on a Wednesday?”

Harge snickered a bit and raised his eyebrows. “She’s, um, ending things with her friends-with-benefits situation. Our friend, Abby, actually. I’m not sure - have you met her?”

Therese nodded, she had, she remembered. 

“I don’t see why, to be honest. It’s not like Carol’s exactly making herself available to anyone else in the middle of a pandemic. I guess Abby’s getting too attached and, well, Carol _cannot_ have that.” Harge rolled his eyes, he had vocalized before his annoyance with Carol’s commitment issues. 

The next day, Carol was back again, walking down Stanton with Therese after work. Maybe they’d passed a couple walking or something, that Therese hadn’t noticed, because Carol abruptly asked, “do you have a boyfriend?”

She looked over at Carol, puzzled, but Carol kept looking straight ahead. “No.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No.”

Still without meeting Therese’s gaze, she followed up with, “why not?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t. Why?”

Carol shrugged. “Just curious.”

Neither said anything after that. Not until Carol was walking away from Therese's apartment. She threw her hand up to wave behind her and shouted, "'night, Therese."


	2. Chapter 2

Therese woke up Friday morning to a reminder from Harge that he would be gone the entire day. He was driving upstate to an artist’s studio - he would be extremely safe, he promised - and told her there was an email for her with a list of things to try and get done that day. He also didn’t mind if she wanted to work from home, should she choose, she just had to let him know so he could tell Carol that nobody would be there that day. 

She really, really did not want to do that. 

Without Harge around, Carol made more noise in the gallery. Usually, she sat quietly, sometimes making an unwelcome comment to Harge about something or another, which led to a catty back-and-forth. But without him, she made her presence a little more known. She’d say things to herself, likely about whatever she was working on, she’d ask random questions when things were too quiet for too long: “I spend so much time thinking about what happened to Madeleine McCann,” or, “do you remember when Pommes Frites exploded and nearly burned down half the block?” She also asked Therese if she had plans that night or if she wanted to order dinner with her.

Therese didn’t have plans, but if she had, she would’ve cancelled them in a second. 

When they were waiting for their dinner to arrive, Carol apologized for being so quiet - she was finishing something for work, but she’d be done in, “two minutes, I promise.”

She shut her laptop and Therese asked something she’d been too embarrassed to ask, because, after five weeks of sitting next to Carol, she should’ve known. “What...do you do, exactly?”

With her chin resting on the heel of her hand, elbows propped on the table, Carol sighed. She rolled her eyes and replied, “I work for a company that designs sustainable packaging. I’m technically the ‘Director of Engineering’” She did a little air quote to accompany her job title. “But in function, I’m a design engineer.”

“Packaging like…?”

“Well, my company has a focus on packaging for cosmetics and cleaning supplies.”

“That sounds really cool.”

Then Carol flung her head back and laughed hard, clearly not believing Therese.

“I’m serious!”

Still laughing, she managed to get out, “you are _so_ full of shit.”

But Therese did think it was interesting. Whether Carol liked it or not, it was still in the design world, it was adjacent to art. Plus, Therese admitted, “I will pay more money for the same thing if it comes in a better package. I know this about myself.”

“Well then,” Carol had recovered, and she replied, “I suppose that’s my job done correctly.”

Therese asked if she could see Carol's projects, what she was doing all day on the computer besides sitting silently wearing her AirPods on Zoom calls. After initial hesitation, Carol agreed. There were a lot of design programs, most of which Therese hadn’t heard of. Carol must’ve let go of her reluctance, because she showed Therese model after model. She sounded _so_ smart when she spoke, and it was kind of hot how surprising her serious, techy career was compared to how she presented herself: very made-up and almost always in designer clothing - even all the t-shirts Therese had seen her wear had ‘Rodarte’ branded across the front. Nothing really screamed, “engineer.”

Though it was totally fascinating to Therese, she could concede that Carol’s work wasn’t conventionally “cool.”

Their food came and Carol announced, “wow, do _I_ want to stop talking about my job.”

She’d thought about Carol’s question from two weeks before. Where she wanted to go when she could finally travel again - or rather, travel for essentially the first time ever. 

Carol smiled and leaned forward, intrigued. “Oh yeah? Where?”

“I want to go to Mexico City.” 

It was the museum capital of the world - at least, Therese thought of it as such. Plus, she spent enough time looking at the Latin art collections in museums around New York City, it would be nice to see art she loved not taken so far from their homes. As expected, Carol had been to Mexico City. Several times, in fact. She also spoke conversational Spanish, which _was_ surprising. 

“Not elitist enough?” Carol asked. “Don’t worry, I also speak enough French to not be a completely upsetting tourist to the Parisians. Besides that minuscule benefit, French was a regrettable choice in retrospect, when I could’ve learned Mandarin or something.”

She asked Therese if there was anywhere specific she wanted to go in Mexico City, anything in particular she wanted to see. Therese hadn’t gotten that far, and she felt a bit dumb for not having an answer. But Carol didn’t seem bothered. Instead, she began listing places for Therese: Frida Kahlo’s house, Templo Mayor Museum, “there’s a really fantastic modern art museum, too. I forgot what it’s called. Probably just ‘Museum of Modern Art.’ Oh, The House of Tiles is pretty mind blowing, too. You know, it’s very convenient you chose Mexico City.”

“Why?”

Carol broke open a fortune cookie and ignored the edible parts, instead silently reading the fortune before flipping to the other side. She muttered, “at least now I can say ‘welcome’ in Mandarin...” Therese thought Carol might be bored and changing the subject, but then she continued, “Convenient because we can hit up Mexico City on our way to Chile. Or on the way back. Whichever makes more sense.”

Oh. She was being silly. Therese rolled her eyes. “Oh, I see. We’re travelling together?”

“Well after you made it sound like a crime for me to go alone, it’s only fair.”

Now Therese was giggling. “I did not make it sound like a _crime_!”

“You were like, ‘you’re going _alone_?’” Carol was definitely dramatizing their conversation, but Therese didn’t mind pretending they’d go on vacation one day. 

“Wouldn’t you just take Harge? Or…Abby?”

A hint of suspicion washed over Carol’s face, probably irked by the mention of Abby. “What did Harge tell you?”

Regretting bringing it up, Therese tried to brush it off. “Not much, honestly. Just that you had a thing and it ended.”

The brief pause in their banter didn’t seem to phase Carol, much to Therese’s relief. “‘A thing’ is an overstatement. Anyway, you’re much better company than either of them, of course I’d rather take you. Plus, if I’m being totally honest, traveling with somebody so beautiful would be a nice perk.”

No doubt the color of Therese’s face matched Carol’s bright coral nails. Never had Therese been confident enough to make a comment like that to someone else, nor could she recall a time she’d been on the receiving end of such blatant flirtation. Carol held her gaze steady - she was probably waiting for Therese to say something (anything! Jesus!) - but Therese was too stunned to be witty. Seconds went by and Carol looked away. Then she really did change the subject. 

Their walk home was back to silence. It wasn’t as comfortable as the first night. Therese hated herself for killing whatever mood they’d had going. But Carol still walked her all the way to her building, despite having no reason, there wasn’t any conversation to be kept going.

Before turning back to head to her own place, Carol said, “have a good night, Therese,” and squeezed her elbow. It felt like an apology. 

A completely unnecessary apology.

Therese touched where Carol’s hand had been and watched as her feet carried her slowly back down the street where they had just walked. Acting on impulse alone - because if she took any time to think about it, Carol would be out of earshot anyway - Therese shouted, “Carol.”

She spun around immediately and waited for Therese to continue. 

“Do you want to come inside?”

Still without a word, Carol walked back toward Therese and followed her as she led them through the front door and up the flight of stairs to the second floor. Therese fumbled with her keys just slightly, but hopefully distracted Carol by commenting, “I do have a roommate, but she’s been staying at her boyfriend’s for, like, two months.”

Inside, Therese took off her mask and carelessly shoved it into her work bag, then took Carol’s things from her and put everything aside on a bench next to the door. She was left studying Carol’s face - her lips, in particular - as Carol surveyed her surroundings. 

Therese heard herself asking, “can I get you a drink or something?” but the words were so soft and cautious that they dissolved in the air without taking on much meaning. Therese had only asked out of habit. 

Carol was staring at Therese then, and Therese forced herself to look up at Carol’s eyes. 

She looked down and then back up at Therese and mumbled, “no.”

\----------

The sun beamed through her window and over her closed eyelids; it was hot, and Therese knew it was much later than she was used to waking up. Even on weekends, she had an alarm. She usually wasn’t a fan of sleeping in. She sat up, blinked, adjusting to the brightness. Just as she suspected: it was almost 11am. 

She hadn’t set her alarm, and she wasn’t wearing anything. Both were because Carol had slept over. Because they’d had sex. Only, Carol wasn’t in her bed anymore. Therese was pretty confident she wasn’t in her apartment at all, judging by the lack of noise. The only clothing left on the floor was her own. Therese grabbed her shirt off the ground, put it on, and opened the window. A gust of warm air blew through the room and sent a small piece of paper flying from the bedside table. It must’ve been left underneath her phone and Therese had almost missed it entirely. 

It said: _Hey, sorry I had to run out so early this morning - I have a work call at 9. Yes, on a Saturday. Lucky me. Anyway, call or text me this weekend. I had fun last night._ It ended with her number and a little heart next to _Carol_ , like she was fourteen and writing a note to her crush in high school. 

Therese smiled, saved Carol’s number, and then called Dannie. 

“How weird, I was just about to call you.”

“I guess I could just feel it.” She held the phone between her shoulder and ear as she took her sheets off of her bed and tossed them in a laundry hamper along with her clothes from the day before. “Why were you going to call?”

“I just wanted to see if you wanted to come over to sit on my roof and complain.”

Of course she did. There were only a few good things about Dannie’s apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, and his roof was one of them. She just needed to shower and change and then she’d bike over. 

“Wait, why did you call?” He added just as Therese was about to hang up.

“I’ll tell you when I get there.”

Within an hour, she was at the foot of the stairs inside Dannie’s building, chaining her bike to the stairs’ railing. Therese knew to walk directly up the five flights and onto the roof where she’d find Dannie waiting. The building was on a corner and had a pretty decent view of Midtown Manhattan to the east. Dannie was sitting in one of two colorful woven lawn chairs, the kind that were low to the ground and looked straight out of the 1950s. He’d bought them specifically to do what he was doing: sitting on the roof, smoking a joint.

“There she is,” he called as Therese approached. 

Therese took off her mask and put her sunglasses on. Dannie pointed to a small tin box that sat on the small wooden table on which he propped up his feet, “I rolled you your own, so we don’t have to share.” There was also a small container of hand sanitizer, because Dannie was both silly and thoughtful. 

Being outside in the sun, in the daylight, always calmed Therese’s anxieties a bit. She pulled out a lighter and took a long hit, hoping it would relax her even further. The night before kept playing in her head, over and over and over again. She was still in disbelief, and if it weren’t for Carol’s note that morning, she probably could’ve convinced herself it had been an extremely vivid, way too satisfying dream.

As if on cue, Dannie asked, “so what did you want to tell me?”

Therese smiled and put a hand over her eyes, waiting for a few seconds. She bit her bottom lip and looked at Dannie. “I had sex last night.”

Dannie’s mouth fell open. They were in the middle of a pandemic, after all. Without context, it probably sounded like a really dumb decision. Though, for other reasons, she wasn’t sure if context would make it all that better. Dannie had known Harge’s twin sister was working from the gallery...and that was about it. She hadn’t told him about how they’d walked home together and had dinner together, even without Harge on occasion. After she admitted, “it was with Harge’s sister, Carol,” she explained all of that. He was still shocked - like, a good shock.

“Was it good?”

Therese re-lit her joint and closed her eyes. “Um, _yeah_. Incredible. Maybe the best sex I’ve ever had, honestly.”

“ _Best sex you’ve ever had?_ Damn.” He waved his hand, trying to get Therese to share more as her attention drifted. “Well, what is this? What do you do now?”

“I have no idea! She’s just very...cool and the whole thing was so spontaneous.” She groaned and tilted her head back, staring into the sun. “I’m just going to, like, talk to her about it on Monday. Sometime when Harge leaves for a bit.”

Laughing a bit at Therese’s expense, Dannie agreed that it was a good plan. 

\-----------

But Carol was gone on Monday. Harge said he actually wasn’t sure as to why, but he assumed she had too many Zoom meetings to be able to work from the gallery. Therese was disappointed. She felt it even more on her walk home. It was so much longer without Carol’s company (even though, in reality, it was probably way shorter - they tended to take their time walking together). 

It wasn’t until nearly noon on Tuesday that Carol finally strolled in, quieter than usual. Harge saw her and said, “can you imagine what a great day I’d be able to have if you hadn’t shown up?”

“Can you imagine what a great life I’d have had if you hadn’t ruined it one minute in?” She was about to take off her mask but then added, “I mean seriously, am I that bothersome to you? Because I can leave.” 

“Hey. Excuse me? I was kidding, of course. Welcome back. Please make yourself at home.” Harge then looked toward Therese, eyes widened, and mouthed, ‘ _yikes_ ,’ because something must’ve been going on. 

Therese considered texting Carol from where she sat at the opposite end of the table. She wanted to make sure everything was okay. But Harge was sitting nearby on a chair with his laptop propped on his knee. It might’ve looked obvious that Therese and Carol were texting one another had he started to wonder what was keeping Therese so preoccupied on her phone. And she definitely wouldn’t risk messaging Carol from her laptop. 

Luckily, Harge announced he was venturing out to pick up lunch a couple hours later, and after making sure neither Carol nor Therese wanted anything, he left out the glass front door of the gallery. 

She waited a couple minutes, hoping Carol would say something, would want to talk to Therese about why she hadn’t said a single word since entering the building, but it never happened. So Therese got up from her chair, walked the five feet over to where Carol sat, and stood. When Carol still didn’t look up at her, she just asked, “are you okay?”

Clearly she was not, but…

Carol paused. Her gaze was still on her screen but it seemed like she was collecting her thoughts more than anything. She took a deep breath and then, “I don’t know what Harge has told you about me, about my personality - how ‘cold’ I am, or whatever - or if you think because I’m quite a bit older than you that you can’t hurt my feelings, but - ”

“Whoa, wait,” not expecting that _at all_ , Therese interrupted. She was not prepared for this to be about her. “What are you talking about?”

“Therese, If you weren’t into it or didn’t want anything to happen again, that’s fine. But at least tell me. I know you’re more mature than this.”

Lost. Therese was just lost. She tried to think of something she did or said, but she hadn’t said anything. “Why would you think I felt that way?”

Then Carol looked a little confused, too. She narrowed her eyes, studying Therese, but dialed back her aggression a bit. “You…never texted me.” 

Oh. _Oh._ So Therese was right, she hadn’t said or done anything, and that was the issue. She just hadn’t thought, “I just - I didn’t think… I didn’t text you because I was worried about, I don’t know, coming on too strong?”

That was one hundred percent the truth. And it sounded really ridiculous as the words left her mouth.

“Okay,” Carol began, not sounding as though she was totally convinced. “I buy you dinner, even when Harge isn’t around, obviously so you’ll have dinner with me. I walk you home every night, despite it being totally out of my way, and _you’re_ worried about coming on too strong?”

Yes. Ridiculous was how Therese sounded. She pulled out her phone, and Carol looked _extremely_ irritated - incensed, really - as Therese held up a ‘wait one second’ finger as she typed. She was annoyed until her own phone vibrated with an incoming message. The hardness of her face was replaced with something else entirely, a surrender. 

She read the message and sighed. Therese felt odd standing while Carol stayed seated, but her chair was all the way at the other end of the table, so she squatted down and rested her chin on the surface. It almost made Carol smile - Therese could see her tongue running over her cheek in an attempt to stifle it - which was always satisfying. 

Carol glanced back at her phone and then once again at Therese. “Fine. What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Hanging out with you?”

Drumming her fingertips close to where Therese’s head rested, Carol added, “only, I’ll be working from my apartment tomorrow - I have _way_ too many calls. Would you want to come over after work? We can get dinner and watch a movie?”

Therese beamed, because it was an even better offer than she thought possible.

Walking back to her chair, Therese considered Carol’s explanation. She’d accepted it a little too easily. “For the record, walking home with me and sometimes having dinner at the place we’re both working from _during a pandemic_ when there is literally nothing else to do is not that obvious.”

Expression turned into a challenging stare, Carol clicked her tongue. “Well, Therese, would you prefer I’d said, ‘I spend half of my day thinking about fucking you, interested in making that happen?’ while my disapproving brother sits ten feet away?” 

Her voice was low and sultry and Therese had no words, she just gasped, mouth left in a gape. It was the worst time for Harge to return, but of course he did, oblivious to the tension in the room. He noticed the silence and Therese’s face, though. “Is she talking about me?” He pointed to Carol. 

Not relying on Therese to suddenly gain her composure, Carol spoke for her. “Yes.”

“Whatever she’s saying, it’s not true.”

Therese highly doubted that. 

————

Using an excuse she herself could barely follow (and god forbid Harge make her repeat herself), Therese managed to leave work an hour early the next day. She’d biked, for purposes of time, and raced back to her apartment in order to get ready. She wanted to take her time, because she was _going over to Carol’s place_ , which didn’t even sound believable in her head, and when she’d called Dannie to tell him their plan earlier in the day, the words felt wrong coming out of her mouth. Because it couldn’t be right, could it?

At home she showered, ran a curling iron through the ends of her hair, applied her makeup more meticulously than she had in months, and stressed over what outfit to wear. She’d attempted, and failed, to allow Carol to let her buy dinner that night. Carol did tell her she could bring something to drink if she felt so inclined, though, “but it isn’t necessary.”

When she’d asked Carol what she liked to drink, Carol only said, “I’m going to be very honest with you - I’m a big fan of alcohol.” When pressed, she mentioned that she wasn’t a huge beer drinker, “but again, I’m not picky,” and she didn’t like vodka all that much. It left the door a little too wide open for Therese, but she’d figure it out. She had to. 

She stopped at a wine store that was situated just between Carol’s street and her own. Inside, her eyes drifted directly to a shelf where prices hovered between 20 and 35 dollars. It’s more than she’d spend if she were buying wine for herself, or for her and her friends, but this was not that. She was buying wine to bring to _Carol’s_ , and it’s so much different. She picked up one, read the label, rejected help when it was offered - choosing to Google the bottle instead - and then set it down and moved on to a different one. She repeated the process twice before grabbing a bottle of red, and then realized she didn’t know what they were eating, nor what Carol preferred (though Therese imagineed she’d tell her, again, that she “isn’t picky”), so she did the same all over again but with white.

If she’d gone straight to Carol’s she would’ve been early, which could be more irksome than arriving late, so Therese walked one block further than necessary before turning around and heading down Carol’s street. She was surprised to stop in front of an average-looking, brown-brick walk-up. It looked like Therese’s building. It was noticeably better kept, but still, she checked the address on her phone and the numbers on the building one more time. There were a couple newly constructed luxury buildings on the street where Therese had thought Carol might’ve lived. Or better yet, in a place like Harge’s - he and Emma had an airy, high-ceiling, spacious loft in Gramercy. 

Therese called Carol to let her know she was outside. 

“Oh, good! I’ll buzz you in. I’m 3A.”

With a deep breath, Therese opened the door and walked up the two flights of stairs. Carol was leaning against the frame of her already opened door, smiling. She said, “well hi there,” and Therese, somehow, didn’t just faint in the hallway. Thankfully so, too, because had she not made it to the threshold of Carol’s apartment, she wouldn’t have been pulled into a quick hug for a greeting, nor would she have been able to see the interior of Carol’s place, which with just one glance around, suddenly made sense. 

Carol had always been the more practical seeming of the two siblings. She’d all but described herself as such, too. Harge liked big, boisterous statements, where Carol’s energy was concentrated and subtle. And while her apartment was reflective of just that, it was still undeniable that she liked nice things. Her furniture was all simple and functional, but Therese could tell it was expensive. There was a bookcase that spanned half of one wall - it must’ve been custom-fit. She had a CH28 chair next to her sofa, and Therese was fairly confident it wasn’t a replica, but a real Wegner one. While admiring the wood trim that outlined the ceiling, she heard, “Therese?”

“Sorry,” Therese felt her face warming. “I spaced out.”

“I just asked how you were doing.” Carol plucked at the thin strap of Therese’s purse and slid it from her shoulder, hanging it on a hook behind her door. 

Leaning against the wall opposite Carol’s door, Therese tried to collect herself. “I’m fine. I’m good, I mean. Just, long day.”

Carol smiled, arms crossed at her chest. “Same. But, I’m very happy you’re here.”

“I’m very happy I’m here, too.”

They both stayed unmoving, staring, waiting for someone to do something. Carol didn’t seem nearly as nervous as Therese ( _why would she be?_ ) but she was quieter than usual. Her gaze fell slowly down Therese’s body and Therese could’ve burst into flames. Carol’s eyes stopped at the bag from the wine store in Therese’s left hand. 

“Drink?”

“Sure.” 

As they walked through the expanse of Carol’s main room, toward the windows, where a kitchen was tucked into a small alcove past the bookcase, Carol began talking and Therese relaxed in turn. She inspected both of the bottles, mentioning she knew nothing about wine, “it’s more my parents’ thing,” shrugged, and put the white in the fridge. She poured them wine and they had a quick discussion about dinner, deciding on pizza. Therese appreciated the unfussy choice. 

Carol sat close to her on the sofa as they talked. She had nearly an entire half behind her, but chose instead to sit right in the middle while Therese leaned on a throw pillow against one upholstered arm. Carol had her right arm draped over the sofa’s back, and whenever Therese said something exciting or something that made her laugh, her left hand would land on Therese’s knee or thigh and squeeze, and sometimes it sat there so long that Therese could feel Carol’s fingertips drawing patterns on her jeans. She didn’t dare look down anytime it happened for fear that the hand would never return. 

They never got around to a movie. They were chatting far too much to bother. When Therese told stories, Carol looked at her like she would keep listening well after Therese had finished speaking. Maybe it was all the wine, but her eyes were intense. And finally, one of those times after Therese had long finished speaking, and Carol’s left hand was tracing patterns over her thigh, Carol took her free hand to grab the back of Therese’s neck, pull her forward, and kiss her. 

It was bold and sudden, but expected, because there was really no mystery as to where the night was headed, just a question as to when they would get there. But it was markedly different than when Carol had come upstairs to Therese’s the past Friday. That night, Therese had barely turned on any of the lights in her apartment, she’d just showed Carol the way to her bedroom and Carol immediately slammed the door closed and kissed her and they both had their clothes off in seconds. But tonight was planned. What the planning of it meant, however, was confusing to Therese, though she knew what she wanted it to mean.

Eventually, Carol started tugging at the bottom of Therese’s shirt as she kissed her, untucking it from her pants. She got frustrated and whispered, “fucking take this off.” Therese obeyed, and Carol pulled her own shirt over her head and tossed it aside. 

Therese took a second to admire Carol’s body. She was so pale, and soft yet trim. Also noteworthy was her lingerie. It was lovely and complemented everything about her. Therese probably hadn’t noticed it the first time because it didn’t stay on her body very long. She ran her fingers under the black strap of fabric over Carol’s chest while Carol kissed her neck. She followed it up over Carol’s collarbone and back down her front, where it split into several other bands, some just decorative, some outlining sheer, mesh cups. “You have beautiful lingerie.”

She shivered when Carol laughed lightly into her shoulder. “Oh, I promise you, it doesn’t all look like this.”

For a moment, Therese relished in the thought of Carol picking through her closet, stressing over what to wear, what would impress without obviousness, just as Therese had, too. She was snapped out of her daydream when Carol’s hand snaked to her back and, in one swift motion, unclasped her bra. 

Therese’s jaw dropped and her hands went up as she instinctively held it to her chest. Carol giggled and Therese said, “how did you - you’re good at that.”

“That’s not the only thing I’m good at,” Carol’s face was close when she whispered. Had it come from anyone else, Therese might’ve rolled her eyes at their undoubtedly overstated arrogance. But she knew Carol was anything but just talk. Carol grabbed Therese’s elbow and guided her up, to her bedroom, blowing out a candle on the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On my computer, this is like a 30+ page document, so it’s getting broken up into three parts now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I’m a horrible liar, but the next chapter is ABSOLUTELY the last. It’ll be shorter like this one, too.

She didn’t know Carol smoked. She had long suspected from the scent when they’d first met, and the way Carol held a pen - between her pointer and middle fingers, like a cigarette - but she’d never actually seen her do it. It wasn’t often at all, she swore, about once or twice a day. And she was trying to stop altogether. Those were all of the qualifiers she’d given when, after dragging her fingernails all over Therese’s naked back in the most soothing way for the past half hour, she asked if Therese would be so horrified if she sat out of her window and smoked a cigarette. 

While Therese did think it was a gross habit, watching Carol lean halfway out of her window wearing nothing but a silky robe was one of the sexiest sights she’d ever witnessed, nicotine be damned. 

“How long have you smoked?”

Carol did that thing where she exhaled out of her mouth and inhaled the smoke through her nostrils - a French inhale, Therese thought it was called - and ashed onto her fire escape. “Since I was seventeen.”

“Always just a couple times a day?” Therese asked, but there was no way. 

“Ha! No. I used to smoke a pack a day. I’ve been trying to quit for a while now.”

“Is that why you’re especially worried about Covid?”

Looking back at Therese, Carol gave a shrug and then a hesitant nod. She took one last drag before extinguishing the butt on the brick. She exited her bedroom and Therese listened to what she assumed was Carol running the end under the tap in her kitchen sink before tossing it in the trash can. The bathroom light across from her bedroom switched on, an electric toothbrush whirred. 

“You really don’t have to do that!” Therese called. She appreciated the gesture, though.

A few seconds later, Carol was back, climbing from the foot of her bed toward Therese, settling _right_ up against her. “Yes, I do.” 

Propped up on her elbow, Carol was gazing down at Therese like she was inspecting every part of her face, so Therese did it back. She had the most interesting cheekbones, so very prominent, yet couldn’t decide whether to be high or low. Her mouth was long like her eyebrows, and Therese traced her fingers over them before catching a strand of fallen hair and tucking it back behind her ear. Carol’s breath hitched but she didn’t stop her stare. 

It was late. Therese could tell. “What time is it?”

Barely moving, eyes never faltering, Carol murmured, “a little before one.”

Therese hated to do it, but she sat up rather suddenly. She really needed to get to bed. She was usually asleep by this time. “I have to get going. I didn't realize it was so late.”

“Oh.” There was a hint of surprise in Carol’s voice. “You know, you’re welcome to stay. I don’t want you to feel like you have to leave.”

While preparing to come to Carol’s apartment, Therese had considered packing a small bag of things, just in case. But she also didn’t want that to look obvious, and then for her to look presumptuous, so she assumed she’d be leaving and came with nothing but her purse. Knowing what she knew about Carol and her fervent independence, her reaction to Therese getting up to go was fairly unexpected.

“I’d love to, but I didn’t bring anything with me. Which would be fine if tomorrow weren’t a Thursday.”

Now Carol looked disappointed, and maybe a bit embarrassed, like Therese was turning her down. She swallowed and looked away, “no, of course. I completely under - ”

Therese cut her off. “I’ll make sure to bring my things next time. A change of clothes and stuff.”

While Therese found her clothing - pants and bra and a sock on the floor, another sock and her underwear tangled somewhere in Carol’s sheets - Carol put on leggings (giving Therese a look at her pretty fantastic walk-in closet) and went to the living room, returning with both of their shirts. “Want me to walk you home?”

“No!” Therese laughed. It was so unnecessary, plus, “if you walk me home, I’ll wind up inviting you inside again and like I said, I need to sleep.”

Carol looked cute and guilty and annoying. And proud of herself. She stood at her door with Therese as she checked to make sure she had everything with her. She did, she knew, she was just kind of stalling. When Therese pulled her mask from her bag, Carol asked, “Friday?”

She wanted Therese to come over again on Friday. Therese smiled, until she remembered she was supposed to have a Zoom call with her friends from college, something that had taken weeks to coordinate. “Saturday?”

It seemed to work just as well for Carol, because she nodded. “Saturday.” 

Carol kissed her like she absolutely did not want her to leave, and Therese wouldn’t have thought twice about staying put had she anything to wear the next day or even just one item she needed for work, but that, unfortunately, was not the case, and she reluctantly slinked out the door while Carol watched her walk down the hall and said, “see you tomorrow.”

—————

Despite being a little hungover from her surprisingly fun virtual college reunion the night before, Therese had almost unbridled energy coursing through her veins. It was Saturday and she wanted to see Carol, to be at her house and on her couch and in her bed again. But it was 11am, so she needed to kill time. She went on a run, did yoga (for 15 minutes, and then wound up checking Instagram during child’s pose and spent the remaining 30 minutes there), took a shower, called Dannie. At 3:30, she decided to play catch up on two weeks worth of laundry. She filled a laundry bag with enough for one load, ready to leave for the laundromat, when Carol called.

Did Therese want to come over sooner? Later? At all, or did she have other things to do? (As if.)

“Well, I’m about to go do a load of laundry, but it won’t take long…”

“Do it here.” Carol was chewing something and sounded unfazed by her own suggestion. “I mean, if you don’t want to disrupt your routine, that’s fine too. I’m just saying, I have a in-unit laundry and - ”

“You do?” Therese had gotten a brief, underwhelming tour of Carol’s place. It had mostly been her pointing into doorways, mentioning, “bathroom, coat closet, bedroom…” Therese would’ve remembered, “washer/dryer.”

“Therese, do you think I’d really share a washing machine with a stranger? And pay two dollars to do it?”

No, definitely not.

Once Therese was throwing the last of her clothing into Carol’s washing machine, she admitted, “I assumed you dropped your laundry off at a wash & fold.”

She used to, she said, but one day an expensive t-shirt got lost and mistakenly given to a _very_ lucky person. After that, Carol figured including an in-unit washer and dryer on her must-have list when she searched for her next apartment would be for the best. When Therese asked if the cleaners paid her for the lost shirt, she looked a bit taken aback.

“Did I make the very sweet, very apologetic, family-run business give me three hundred dollars for a Miu Miu shirt I can obviously afford to replace? No, I did not. Because that would make me a monster.”

————

When Therese spent the night, she could tell Carol was beyond pleased. And not just the first night, but the _several_ nights a week Therese would spend at Carol’s throughout all of September. 

Therese also often wondered when Carol’s notorious aversion to giving out attention would kick-in. Most nights, Carol would fall asleep draped halfway over Therese, breathing into the back of her neck or the side of her upper arm, and when they’d wake up, she’d demand they stay that way for, “just five more minutes.” And despite waiting for the other shoe to drop, Therese savored every moment it hadn’t yet. 

No, she definitely didn’t want things to come to a halt, partly because Therese had allowed herself to be more open with Carol than she had to probably anyone in her life, longtime friends included. 

One night, as they sat on Carol’s fire escape as she smoked a cigarette, Carol asked, “why do you sleep with a pillow between your legs?”

(Long ago, Richard had asked her the same thing, and Therese just said, “it’s comfortable,” which wasn’t necessarily untrue.)

The full truth was a little more than that, and it was a little more pitiful, and a little more upsetting, even after so much time. The full truth dated back to when Therese was ten-years-old. She’d complained to her friend about her back hurting for no apparent reason, and her friend's eyes widened and she told Therese that it was, “probably scoliosis.” Her cousin had it and it was _bad_. When she approached her brand new foster parent, her response was to laugh, and tell her she was, “too young,” to have back pain. No doctor, no sympathy, not even ibuprofen. 

“So the next day, I used my school’s computer - and here’s a sign of the times - to ‘Yahoo’ search it,” Therese smiled and sighed, because at least that part was funny. Or so she thought, but Carol looked desperate for the story to get better. “And read about sleeping with a pillow between your legs to ‘align your spine.’ Or something. When my back stopped hurting, I was convinced I’d cured myself. In retrospect, it was probably a muscle strain from gym class that went away on its own.”

Her resolved back pain hadn’t really been the uplifting ending the story required to adequately rectify the mood. Carol was staring at Therese like she was kind of sad, but also angry. The sadness was why Therese was reluctant to share these things; she didn’t want to make people unhappy on her behalf. And she especially did not want to hear about how very _sorry_ they were. 

Before Therese could swiftly shift the focus as she so hopelessly wanted, Carol cleared her throat and started, “you know, it’s funny, because when I was in the sixth grade, I had horrible posture. And my parents, being who they are, sent me to - not one, but two - chiropractors, both of whom said it was _not_ scoliosis as they feared, but just me slouching.” Carol raised an eyebrow at Therese and re-lit her cigarette. “My parents hated that, of course. The next day, my dad called his friend at Juilliard who recommended a three-day-per-week, six week long private class on the Alexander Technique. The Alexander Technique is - ”

Therese smirked and interjected. “I know what the Alexander Technique is. I have plenty of weird, art friends and I’ve seen my share of downtown theatre.”

“Of course you do.”

“Did it work?” Therese asked. “The classes?”

Probably no more than just growing up and no longer being 11-years-old worked, Carol explained. What was a kid her age supposed to do? Be happy about being driven into the city after school so some middle-aged woman could tell her how to “constructively rest?” But that wasn’t the point.

“My point is,” Carol turned to her and scooted closer. With her free hand, she brushed a piece of Therese’s hair from out of her face. “Even when they were so over-the-top, my parents always acted out of love. Or at least something like it. I think everybody deserves that. But you especially, Therese, deserved it. You still do.” 

Therese was shaking. Not physically. But her chest felt like it was vibrating and she couldn’t speak because of it. Carol was just sitting still - right there - resting on her knees with her ankles crossed behind her, hand on Therese’s jaw underneath her ear. Therese was certain she’d never had anybody look at her the way Carol was looking at her in that moment.

And then Carol backed over to where she’d originally been sitting, finished her cigarette, and announced, “I think I’m done smoking. I think this is the last one.”

“Don’t quit on my account.”

Carol frowned a little. She started to say something, and then stopped herself. And then she began again, telling Therese that it was, as shameful as it sounded, mostly for vanity reasons. She clearly wasn’t going to get her teeth whitened again anytime soon and it had now been over six months since her last botox appointment. 

Surprised, Therese asked, “you get botox?”

Even in the dim light from the almost-set sun, Therese could see Carol blush as she nodded and pointed to her forehead and the outer corners of her eyes. Therese just giggled and kissed the spots where she’d pointed. 

\--------------

One day, later in September, the gallery was graced with the presence of Abby Gerhard. She’d made an appointment - as required - so her visit was no surprise, though advanced notice did nothing to put Therese at ease. She didn’t say anything, of course, she was just grateful to be wearing her mask as to not have to exhaust her facial muscles by putting on a stupid, fake grin. 

The painting she came to see wasn’t Therese’s favorite. It wasn’t Harge’s favorite either, but he had a personal relationship with the artist and, well, he knew the painting would sell. But both Therese and Harge found the painting a bit derivative. Specifically, the artist appeared to borrow _a lot_ from Kandinsky. Therese wondered why somebody like Abby wouldn’t just spring for the real thing. She had the money. And Abby seeking out an original Kandinsky at some auction house would save Therese the experience of having to stand in the gallery with her and Harge, listening to her talk about how the colors would go well with another painting she had in her guest bedroom, and that, “for some reason,” it reminded her of when she, Harge, Carol, and John Aird all went to see _The Clean House_ at the Lincoln Center. (Therese wanted so badly to roll her eyes.)

She turned around, “do you remember that, Carol?”

Removing one AirPod, Carol glanced up. She’d missed whatever Abby had said.

“Do you remember seeing that Sarah Ruhl play with your dad years ago?”

“Oh, yeah.” Carol nodded. “That was with Jill Claybrugh. It couldn’t have been too long before she died.”

“Christ, it was ages ago! Ages!” Abby laughed, and then looked directly at Therese and added, “I guess we were probably as young as you.”

Maybe Abby was about as nice as she sounded, which was not at all. Therese kept her arms crossed and her mouth shut for the remainder of the time. She didn’t like how Abby rubbed Carol’s shoulder before getting ready to leave, or her wink at Therese as she dashed out the door. Unaware of it all was Harge. He just said, “told you we’d have a buyer,” and high-fived Therese before giving her details to arrange the delivery. 

Later, as she sat on her laptop on Carol’s Wegner chair, Therese looked up Abby’s address. Out of interest, of course. She and Harge were packaging the painting to be shipped to her the next day, after all. 

It seemed odd that Abby lived in Brooklyn. And even odder that she lived in Brooklyn Heights - Therese recognized the name of the street. The neighborhood was very quiet and just felt ill-fitting for somebody as...vibrant, as Abby. But once her search results came up, Therese nearly tossed her laptop onto the floor. Apparently Abby spent _many_ millions of dollars on her home just a handful of years ago. Therese audibly gasped, which piqued Carol’s interest. She came up behind Therese, and when Therese turned around, Carol’s eyes were in a squint, looking between the screen and Therese.

“Curious about Abby’s house?”

Curious was one word for it. Therese didn’t respond. She suddenly felt very small for countless reasons. 

“She does have a pretty incredible townhouse.”

Finally, Therese managed to mutter, “I can see that. Why Brooklyn Heights?”

“Abby also has a pretty incredible Porsche. And she really likes to drive it.” Carol shifted her fork around in the salad she was eating, not paying much attention. “Her family has a ton of money.”

“Doesn’t your family, too?”

Carol laughed. “Not like Abby’s. She could live her lifestyle for several lifetimes before finding the end of her trust fund.” When Carol paused, Therese wanted to point out that Carol, too, had a trust fund. (She knew because Harge had made a comment to Carol about how she was, “allowed to touch it sometimes, you know.” And Carol had responded by saying something about saving it and only using a little for vacations.) But Carol continued before Therese had the chance. “That said, she’s a really great person. So fucking smart, brilliant at her job. Does a lot of philanthropy, too.”

“Good for Abby.” Therese shut her laptop and set it on the coffee table. 

So that was who Therese was up against. It didn’t seem remotely fair. Therese, who lived in a nothing-better-than-decent apartment with a roommate. Therese, who’d just begun saving money for the first time in her life. Therese, whose most exotic vacation was going to Burlington, Vermont with Dannie and his brother last summer, was supposed to compete against _Abby?_ There was simply no way. 

Suddenly, she found herself so close to crying, but Carol didn’t seem to notice. Not at first. She just grabbed Therese’s bowl from the kitchen and started walking it over to her, asking, “aren’t you going to eat?” but then stopped in her tracks when she saw Therese’s face.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Not able to talk for fear of tears actually falling, Therese shook her head and looked away. She wanted to drop it. She wanted to go home but she didn’t know how to move. 

Carol set the dishes down on her coffee table and sat on the floor near the chair where Therese sat. She didn’t say anything for a minute, instead just studied Therese as she attempted to look as though nothing was wrong. 

It took a surprising amount of time for Carol to put two and two together, but eventually she asked, “are you…you’re not jealous of Abby, are you?”

She was still unable to speak. This time, because of her limited options: one answer was a lie, the other was downright humiliating. But of course (of course!) she was jealous of Abby. Carol asking her to admit it felt cruel. So Therese chose not to answer. Maybe it was a deflection, but it had to be said. “She still has feelings for you.”

“I know.” On that, Carol did not hesitate. Not a single beat missed. She didn’t sound or look ashamed of it, either. _‘I know,’_ totally matter-of-fact. 

It caught Therese off-guard. “Oh?”

“I mean, yes, she still has feelings for me. But there isn’t much I can do about it. I’ve only seen her twice in the past couple months, I’m never flirtatious,” that part earned a pointed look from Therese. “Not intentionally or more than usual, at least. But she’s a shark. I know that.”

Abby was exactly like a shark, Therese agreed, “a glamorous shark.”

“Don’t tell her that, she’ll love it too much.” Carol reached over and rubbed her hands up and down Therese’s calves. “She makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t she?”

It wasn’t just Abby’s presence, Therese explained, but it was like she went out of her way to make her feel unwelcome. Even when they’d all run into one another at Harge’s engagement party. Abby entered their conversation like a territorial partner, ready to fend-off Carol’s misguided suitors, not that Carol likely remembered that encounter, but still. 

“Of course I remember.” She pulled herself forward using Therese’s legs as an anchor. Then, with her arms folded into Therese’s lap, she rested her head. “I felt so horrible for being so bitchy to you. I tried to find you later to apologize, but I think you’d already left.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

Taking a bit of Carol’s blonde hair between her fingers, Therese twirled it and untwirled it. She sighed. “I just feel like I can’t compete with her.”

“You definitely cannot compete with Abby.”

Not exactly the answer Therese was looking for, nor the one she was expecting. She bit her bottom lip, waiting for some sort of ‘but,’ to soothe things over. 

“You can’t compete with someone when you aren’t playing the same sport.” Carol lifted from the floor and motioned for Therese to scoot back so she could slide onto her lap. All of it made Therese feel instantly better. She told Therese that she could have Abby if she wanted, but she didn’t. She hadn’t ever, which she felt guilty about. She was just lonely after Elena and Abby was there, she’d been waiting. Not much really happened either, they’d had sex a handful of times between Abby’s work trips.

Masochistic as it was, Therese had to ask. “Was it good?”

Carol answered honestly. “It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t what I wanted. It was nothing like this.”

Therese wanted to ask what that meant, exactly. To force Carol to elaborate, to explain what “this,” - this thing between the two of them - had that _was_ what she wanted. And to explain what more she wanted from it, too. But she decided to save any further questions. One thing at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, terribly sorry. This story will come to an end. I promise.


	4. Chapter 4

Loose strands of hair that hadn’t quite made it into Therese’s ponytail whipped across her face and around her ears as Carol sped up onto the BQE. She wasn’t exactly a delicate driver, but then again, the car she wasn’t driving wasn’t exactly meant to be driven delicately. 

When Carol had picked her up, Therese was skeptical. She paused with her hand on the passenger side door handle as she realized… “does Abby know that I’ll be in her car?”

Abby _did_ have a really sick Porsche. 

Pushing her sunglasses up onto her head, Carol replied, “she does, actually. Now get in.”

It wasn’t just any Porsche, it was vintage. “Vintage- _ish_ ,” Carol clarified, because she was apprehensive to call anything younger than herself vintage. Specifically, it was a 1989 911 convertible. Therese knew what exactly none of that meant, but it would mean something to Dannie, who would need to hear about her cruising down the freeway, heading out of the city, destination currently unknown because of Carol’s insistence that it be cloaked in mystery for the time being. (She stressed that it would be “fairly unexciting,” and for Therese to not expect too much.)

Therese rubbed the back of Carol’s hand as it rested on the gear stick and Carol looked over to her and smiled. “See, it’s not too cold, right?”

It wasn’t at all. It was definitely warm for October, but it could’ve been snowing for all Therese cared. Carol turned on the radio and Therese tilted her head back into the side of her headrest and closed her eyes beneath her sunglasses. She said, “keep it,” when Carol found a station playing Jefferson Airplane. 

Though comfortable and content enough to fall asleep, Therese fought the urge. She didn’t want to miss out on anything. She felt that way often with Carol, but especially while being whisked away on some sort of clandestine car ride. 

Wherever they were headed didn’t require directions, and Therese didn’t think much of it for nearly the entirety of their near hour-long journey, she was more engrossed in the sun and the density of the buildings thinning out and making way for red and orange and yellow trees. It took her until Carol exited the highway and turned onto a street with a sign for Rye, and an accompanying arrow Carol was clearly about to follow. 

Instantly, Therese was alert and considering ejecting herself from the vehicle the moment they stopped at a light. Carol noticed, laughed, and said, “calm down. My parents rented a house in the Hamptons for a few weeks. I’m not psychotic, Therese.”

\---------------

There had been countless mental renderings Therese had created of the Airds’ house whenever Harge would mention visiting. She had always been tempted to ask to see a picture, but didn’t want to be weird about it, so she kept her mouth shut. As a result, what Therese had pictured was almost nothing like the house in reality. The real thing was so much better. 

After sliding off her shoes and setting them on a mat beside the front door, Carol strode right on in ahead of Therese, socks shuffling across the terra-cotta tile floor of the foyer. She only turned around when she realized Therese wasn’t behind her but instead stuck to the doorway. She gazed up and around as she took in the house that might as well have been a work of art itself. She couldn’t help it. There was so much wood and so many windows (when one ended, there was another right above, scaling the miles-high walls) and art _everywhere_. 

Carol hummed and it was like a siren that finally enticed Therese to inch her way further into the foyer. “If you follow me, I’ll give you an actual tour. There’s some pretty great paintings and prints peppered throughout the rooms. Maybe you can tell me about them.”

As Therese followed, she listened to Carol explain her thinking behind visiting her parents house: show Therese some of their personal art collection, her mother’s studio, and maybe they could even play tennis, plus, “the Marshlands Conservatory is just down the street, too, if you want to really get outside.” She shrugged and tacked on a, “I don’t know, I just thought it’d be nice if I could take you somewhere to hang out that wasn’t my apartment.”

Therese was positive that the only thing sweeter than Carol coming up with something out-of-the-ordinary to do with next to no options was her slightly self-conscious, understated pitch. Like she was bracing herself for Therese to be horribly unimpressed. She considered staying quiet, letting Carol squirm a bit more, to see what other points of interest she could muster up when put under pressure, but Therese didn’t have the heart. Besides, she was completely charmed. 

When Therese smiled, Carol finally smiled back, as well. “Thank you, Carol, for thinking of this.” She then, of course, absolutely wanted a tour, and admitted her secret interest in Carol’s parents’ house. Carol went quickly through rooms she considered to be mostly unremarkable: the kitchen was huge and a little dated, but not in a way that compromised attractiveness; the living room had the endless windows and a brick fireplace that had been painted white. They ventured upstairs, past the dining room where Carol pointed and said, “we’ll end there.” A guest room, Harge’s old bedroom that had been turned into an office, and Carol’s old room, which was another guest room. Carol attempted to breeze out quickly, but a wall filled with what must’ve been family photos caught Therese’s eye. 

“Not so fast.” Therese got closer and Carol sighed.

They were adorable kids, Carol and Harge, and somebody had insisted on dressing them in matching outfits for a considerable portion of their toddler years. There was even a picture from one Halloween where they were both dressed as Ewok. There was a picture of Carol, maybe seven or eight, dressed as David Bowie _with_ David Bowie. Even handmade cards had been framed, made from construction paper were two separate hand-drawn “Happy Mother’s Day” cards, one with a picture of a little Carol hugging her mother and the other similar, but with Harge. Harge had a noticeable welt on his head in the picture. Therese pointed, and looked to Carol. 

“Do you know what a Skip-It is? Or is that before your time?”

“No, I know.” They were the toys that kids looped around their ankle and spun around to skip over the attached rope with the other foot. “I always wanted one but I never got it.”

“Well,” Carol started, putting her hands behind her back like she was preparing a speech. “Ours was taken away. Harge kicked it while I was setting a personal record, so I picked it up and swung it in his face.”

The dining room was where the Aird’s collection of De Stijl work hung. It was hard to believe the paintings hung in someone’s home, let alone in a room where Carol and her family had dinner every night. Well, maybe not every night - the table sat eight. But still, there was a Bolotowsky and a Schwitters and one that had to have been a Domela on the opposite wall. 

“Between the family artifacts and this, I feel like I’m at a museum.” Therese whispered, still gazing intently between one work and another.

Carol craned forward, right next to Therese’s ear, and mumbled, “if you promise not to touch anything, I can show you my mother’s studio.” 

It was almost like a normal day. Not truly normal, because under normal circumstances, not in the midst of a pandemic, Carol probably never would’ve taken Therese to her parents’ empty house in an attempt to find something fun, something unsual, to do. Therese was glad it was happening, though. She saw _Jennifer Aird’s_ painting studio (her reaction earned a hefty eye-roll from Carol), they walked through the Marshlands and saw a whole lot of deer, and even played tennis. Kind of. Therese wasn’t bad, just a bit rusty. She’d played a little in high school. Carol was not good, apparently having actively resisted making any use of her parents’ tennis court growing up. It wound up being closer to a game of dodgeball, with Therese launching balls toward Carol and her recoiling at the sight. Ultimately, it was just as fun for Therese. 

When the sun started setting, Carol said they could head back to Manhattan, or, “I mean, we could sleep here, if you wanted to order dinner and raid my parents’ wine cellar. Either way, I’m returning Abby’s car to her tomorrow. Totally your call.”

They fell asleep wine drunk on the daybed in the sunroom.

\----------------------

A distant, strange voice awoke Therese. For a moment, it was disorienting enough that she had almost forgotten where it was she’d been sleeping. Whoever was shouting called out again and this time enough to coax Carol awake. 

A third time, more clearly, Therese heard, “Abigail?”

Therese whispered, “Carol, who’s here?”

Carol sprung up and covered her mouth. “Oh my god.” She swallowed, put her face in her hands, and repeated, “oh my god. Oh my god…”

Opening the sliding glass door to the sunroom, Jennifer Aird stopped without entering and just stood. Observed. Surely she must’ve been confused, but she didn’t show it. Her face remained neutral, a pleasant kind of neutral. “Considering Abigail's car seats two, I don’t suppose I’ll find her here, too. Among the covers or anywhere else.”

Of course: the car. Anyone could easily piece the situation together. Abby’s car - obviously not stolen by Carol, but borrowed - had driven them out of the city and into the empty Aird house, where they had noticeably spent the night on the daybed in the sunroom. Carol and Harge’s assistant. And if they were spending time at Carol’s parents’ house, well, this certainly wasn’t the first time they were seeing one another. And likely not even the second or the third. 

After receiving a genuine and warm, “it’s nice to see you, Therese,” from Jennifer, she was left sitting with the blankets bunched around her waist, straining forward to try and hear Carol and her mother talking in the kitchen. She’d heard Carol’s hiss of, “what are you doing here?” Which was followed by an understandable sharp laugh. It was Jennifer’s home, after all. But there was an explanation: John Aird left his toiletry bag. Something was said about him not being allowed to drive when he was frustrated. Therese wondered if she’d have preferred John find her and Carol over Jennifer. Maybe he’d have felt too awkward to even say anything…

She was knocked out of her thoughts when Jennifer said, rather loudly, “so obviously Harge doesn’t know about this.”

It was like a dog whistle that brought Therese to her feet and into the kitchen. She didn’t know why - she was too mortified to contribute anything to the discussion. Still, she stood at the room’s entrance, bracing herself for Jennifer’s judgement, her honesty. 

But that wasn’t what came. Jennifer's eyes were lit up, a mischievous glint that almost looked a little delighted as she glanced at Therese and then back to Carol. “No, I’m not going to tell him. You and your brother are forty-year-old adults who continue to torment one another and I, finally, am not required to intervene. Lucky me. No, sweetheart, this is _your_ mess to sort out.” Her face reverted to puzzlement, and she added, “by the way, just what is it exactly that you two are doing here?”

With less hesitancy than her explanation to Therese yesterday, Carol gave an abridged version of her, ‘wanting to take Therese somewhere that wasn’t her apartment,’ pitch.

“Ah, I see.” Jennifer turned to Therese and said, “well, congratulations to you, Therese. I’ve heard Carol’s best plans for a date usually involve finding whatever dreary dive bar is closest to her building, followed by going back to her place, and then wrapping things up by midnight because she ‘overheats’ if another person dares to share her bed. You must be doing something right.”

Therese opened her mouth to respond (to ask a question, maybe?) but Jennifer had already left to venture upstairs, find John’s left behind bag, while Carol shouted her away. 

\---------------

Listening to the low hum of Carol’s Roomba, Therese divided her attention between Carol making tea at the other end of the room and the menacing, plate-sized robot making its way beneath the coffee table on which she propped her feet. The vacuum’s sudden departure from its home in the corner and venture across the apartment had sparked a discussion about technology, which made her bring up her parents' obsessions with inconvenient relics.

Carol walked over, two mugs in her hand (she didn’t even like tea very much, especially herbal tea, but Therese suspected she was replacing her nightly cigarette habit with another ritual), and expertly side-stepped her Roomba. “There are just certain things not meant to be cyclical,” she sighed, “I just don’t understand it. I mean, my dad still writes on a typewriter. _A typewriter_.”

“What does he do with his drafts?”

Using the string of the teabag, Carol swirled it around on her mug a few times and then placed it into an ashtray on the coffee table. She looked down at her mug, frowned - just barely, and set it next to the ashtray. “He binds them and sends them to his editor.”

Therese was surprised Carol was broaching the topic of her own parents. She expected her to be a little more tight lipped about the subject after, a couple of days earlier, she asked out of the blue, “do you ever wish you’d been adopted?”

Rarely was anyone brave enough to actually broach the subject. It was tiptoed around quite often, sure, but in tactful words that only skimmed the surface. Therese locked eyes with Carol - and she must’ve looked harsh, because Carol visibly startled - and said, “No. Never.”

“Why not? Aren’t all children supposed to want families?” Sometimes Carol was recklessly blunt. She wasn’t rude, because she chose the company of her words well, but it sure made Therese wonder how often Carol skated on very thin ice. 

Therese waited a moment, let Carol listen to her own echo, maybe make her squirm internally. Of course people wanted “families.” And obviously families needn't have any relation to one another, biologically, adoptively, or otherwise, but generally, everyone wanted their own version of one. “But that’s not what you're asking, is it? You’re asking if I wanted parents?” Carol said nothing, and Therese continued. She had parents. They just couldn’t take care of her. She didn’t want, nor need, another set. There were plenty of children who needed parents and families and homes, but not Therese. What Therese wanted was for someone to help the parents that she had so that they could once again be able to act like parents. But obviously that never happened, it was never going to, and Therese being rescued by strangers when she was already halfway to adulthood wouldn’t have changed anything. “Does that answer your question?”

After a stubborn pause (as if she was in any position to push Therese on the issue), Carol nodded. “When’s the last time you saw them?”

It had been right before Therese moved to New York. She knew her mother’s phone number, but not her father’s. She called, and they met up for coffee near her mother’s apartment. Therese had to take three buses to get there, and as she waited with her coffee, she watched as her mother pulled up, late, in a car Therese wasn’t even aware she had. In that moment, Therese decided once and for all that it would be the last attempt she made at reconnecting with either of her parents at all. 

Still, the meeting itself was equal parts civil, friendly, and awkward. She tried to think of a comparable experience to offer Carol, something she could easily imagine, but there probably wasn’t anything quite like it. She didn’t know if her mom was still using drugs or not, but that wasn’t the point. In fact, Therese didn’t think she cared to know either way. They mostly caught up on what the previous three years had looked like, Therese talked about how she was moving to New York City, and by the time they were saying goodbye, she was sure they both knew that they’d probably never see each other again. There was nothing there. Irreparable damage had been done, and Therese told herself it was nobody’s fault, but it wasn’t even worth fixing. Not if neither of them really wanted to make any effort.

After that conversation with Carol, Therese noticed she spent the rest of the night much quieter than usual. Even the way she looked at Therese was quieter. Therese wondered if she’d been too severe in her attitude, if she’d spooked Carol.

But now, days later, she wasn’t worried. Carol stretched out onto her stomach, halfway on the couch and halfway on top of Therese, and rested her chin on Therese’s chest. 

Therese thought it was as good a time as ever to ask something that had been on her mind for a few weeks. “So, when this is all… over,” she wrapped her finger around a strand of Carol’s hair, trying to pick her words carefully. “We’re going to still do _this,_ right?”

Carol tilted her head up and looked at Therese, eyebrows furrowed. “Sit on my couch and do nothing? God, I hope not.”

That wasn’t quite what Therese meant. She sighed. “I mean, when you can see anybody you want again, will you still want to keep doing _this?_ Seeing me?”

Sitting up, Carol stared out into her living room, eyes following her Roomba, a pensive look on her face that made Therese want to be swallowed by the sofa. She had considered not asking, not wanting to sound insecure - because she wasn’t, everything was just a bit unclear - and for a slight fear of rejection. 

Carol picked up her tea, brought it up to her lips, but before taking a sip she said, “do you remember Harge’s 39th birthday party?”

Of course Therese remembered. 

“Well, a couple days after that, I asked Harge something like, ‘what’s the deal with your new assistant?’ Because I thought you were pretty, and I wanted to see if you wanted to go out sometime. And he said, ‘don’t even think about it.’ But I did think about it, of course. I thought about it often, but I didn’t do anything. And then, my air conditioner broke this summer, and I knew you were working at the gallery with Harge, and I thought, why not at least give myself something to look at all day?” Carol turned to Therese, and Therese knew she must’ve been bright red. “I pay a lot for this apartment, so obviously, my air was fixed in about 36 hours. But that’s not why I was really there. I was there because, after well over a year, I couldn’t stop thinking, ‘what’s the deal with Therese?’”

“Did you find out?” Therese asked, and then drank her tea, doing her best to hide her face.

“It’s a work in progress.” Leaning back into the other end of the sofa, Carol crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, staring. “But, I like to be very thorough. So to answer your question, even when possible, I don’t think I’ll have _time_ to see anyone besides you, nor do I have any interest.”

It more than answered her question.

\-----------------------

It started off as normal as any other day. Busy, but a boring kind of busy. Instead of a day filled with client appointments or preparing paintings for shipping, Therese had spent two hours on the phone with the gallery’s web designer, attempting to fix a formatting issue. For the first time ever, Therese wished she knew how to code so she could do everything herself. Carol had tried to help at one point, taking Harge’s work phone out of Therese’s hands and seating herself at Therese’s laptop. She lasted all of two minutes before giving up. “He’s an idiot,” she said, thrusting the phone back into Therese’s hands. 

Finally, Harge took pity on Therese and then took over, sitting in Therese’s chair. “Hey Jimmy! So listen…” 

Therese tuned out. She drifted across and around the gallery, welcoming the break away from one screen only to use the time to stare down at her smaller one. She scrolled mindlessly through Instagram, considered deleting it, didn’t, read a few headlines on the New York Times app, got mad, scrolled Instagram again, got a text from Carol asking if she was coming over that night or not, because she’d left some laundry at her apartment. In the middle of typing out a response, Therese froze. Her texts were synced to her Macbook. The one Harge was currently using.

She just stood there, looking at her unfinished text - but not really. She wasn’t looking at anything, she was just standing still, slowly gaining the physical strength to look up toward Carol. 

Carol had stopped typing and clicking away on her laptop. Her hands had left her keyboard and instead sat on either side of it, on the table. She wasn’t quite gripping it, but they weren’t resting, either. She was like a frightened animal that thought if she didn’t move, maybe nobody would see her, yet ready to bolt at any moment. 

Maybe - just maybe - Carol’s text hadn’t popped up on Therese’s Macbook screen. Maybe if they did stay really, really still, they could get away with it. But that idea shattered when Harge said, “Jimmy, let me call you back.”

Therese couldn’t look at Harge yet, but he must’ve just hung up after that, because - though Jimmy was pretty bad at his job - the next words out of his mouth were, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”

It was like a shotgun, and Carol sprung up from her seat. Therese closed her eyes and craned her head back. She didn’t need to watch them argue, listening to it all unfold was more than enough. For a second, she thought about leaving. It would take them at least a minute to notice. Slinking away and strolling around the block certainly wouldn’t be a _bad_ idea. Or maybe she could grab her bag and leave. Possibly never come back. But her laptop was still on the table. And it wouldn’t be long before Carol and Harge bombarded her with calls, so a simple disappearing act was probably off the table. And she didn’t really want to leave either of them. Harge and her job and especially Carol. She shuddered at the thought. 

Carol had been correct in her adamance that Harge would be extremely unhappy if he found out that she was even so much as _thinking_ about Therese beyond the confines of his gallery. “I explicitly requested for you to leave Therese alone. And not just once, but twice.”

They were shouting back and forth, mostly in circles, Harge about Carol habitually disrespecting him and Carol about Harge’s lack of support. Therese had never been more happy to not have a sibling. Clearly, she was a catalyst and now caught in the crossfire. Their grievances far predated her existence in their lives but the opportunity to untangle herself was long gone. 

Generally, Therese never appreciated being spoken about in a way that suggested she wasn’t there when in reality, she was very much present. Nobody liked the feeling and Therese sometimes thought she was especially sensitive to the behavior from the amount of it she endured growing up, in houses where she often felt like a guest. There, but not quite there. There, but maybe not totally supposed to be there. 

But Harge was ranting and Carol looked close to tears. Therese decided that she definitely needed to be there if Carol was getting that upset. “ - and I should never have let you come work here in the first place.”

“I just don’t understand why you’re so bothered by _this_ in particular.”

“Because I’m going to promote her!” Harge shouted and then stepped back, either startled or exhausted with himself. For what seemed like the first time, he looked at Therese. He almost smiled, but didn’t. He couldn’t. And then he put it simply for Carol: “which is why I’d really appreciate it if you stopped this. Before you get bored or toss her aside when she wants more from you. I can’t have you ruining my business just because you want to get fucked.”

 _Promote?_ Therese wanted to jump up and down, to twirl and scream and dance. But then she heard Carol’s composure break. Her eyes watered and her voice cracked, and Harge’s growing annoyance at the sight probably wasn’t helping. In a small, sad voice, she said, “please don’t make me do that. Don’t make me stop seeing her for her to get promoted.”

With Harge’s level of understanding, it made sense. He wanted Therese to be responsible for more, to have a bigger role, he said, it was something he’d talked about with his investors, too (his investors were a group that included his parents, and Therese thought about Jennifer's assumption that Harge didn't know about Therese and Carol). And if Carol upset Therese and then Therese parted ways with Harge’s gallery as a result, it would make things difficult. “More difficult than losing an assistant, at least. I mean _fuck,_ Carol.”

“You don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand, huh? I specifically asked you not to, I - ”

“I’m so happy, Harge.” Carol shouted at him, like the words had to fly out quickly or they wouldn’t at all. “I’m so happy. When have you ever heard me say that?”

From the looks of it, from Harge’s sudden silence, the answer was probably never. 

“She makes me really happy. And I’m sorry I went behind your back, I really am, but I promise I’m not going to screw this up. There are so many things that I have in mind that I want to with her and places I want to go. I can’t do those things if I fuck up. I’m telling you this is different. In what world would I be admitting that, right here, in front of you,” then she pointed at Therese, “and in front of _you,_ if it wasn’t?” 

Harge waited, letting a minute go by, saying nothing. He still didn’t look pleased. Far, far from it. But he looked like believed Carol. A little bit, at least. His jaw shifted, and he eyed Therese. He didn’t say anything, but Therese could imagine. She tilted her head and nodded. 

Dropping his hands, he shook his head. “I’m still pissed, Carol.”

“I know.”

“You’re on probation. I want you out of here for a couple weeks.” Carol opened her mouth to respond, but Harge continued, _“and,_ if Therese decides she’s had enough of _you,_ you aren’t going to be happy with whose side I’ll be on.”

“Okay. Sure. That’s fine.”

They all just decided to leave for the day. Therese said she’d work on the website more at home, and Harge replied, “I guess you’d better check on your laundry at Carol’s first.” She thought he was angry with her all of the sudden, but then he added, “well, congratulations, by the way. Let’s talk more about that next week, yeah?”

If there was a winner coming out of the afternoon, it was absolutely Therese. 

Therese and Carol walked back to Carol’s apartment, silent for a while, until Therese asked, “what did you mean when you said there were ‘so many things’ you had in mind you wanted to do with me?”

She couldn’t see through Carol’s masks, but she could tell Carol was smiling as she stared down the sidewalk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it took me so long to post this. When I said the last part was almost done, I meant it. I pulled this file up today and it took me _maybe_ twenty minutes to finish.
> 
> Also: did not mean to have two updates heavy in the family drama department. Sorry for the redundancy. Whoops.


End file.
